Page 1 of Get It In Writing
Chapter One - Rebecca
Too many pens, and not enough paper. That’s kind of a symbol for every roadblock, screw-up, and faux-paus I’ve either encountered, created, or tripped over during my professional career so far.
Not that it’s been very long. No, it’s just started, and already I’m screwing up. But yeah, at least this time it’s not entirely my fault.
“You look confused.”
I’m crouched down in my ergonomic desk chair, one that probably cost the firm more than my rent for the month, and I’m looking for an extra notepad when a man’s voice, thick and smooth, hits my ears.
I look up and seehim.
It’s the boss, the guy who I’m working for, the guy who stays behind closed doors and rarely comes out, unless it’s to bark an order or demand. Mr. Harper.
And now, he’s caught me with my skirt bunched up around my thighs, my glasses slipping down my nose, and my blow-out falling down into my face.
I don’t say anything, but I certainly am confused. At least, that’s one way to put it.
“Me?” I say, still crouched down with my hands in the bottom drawer of my desk. “Huh?
“Yes,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like honey. “You. You look confused.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s my second day, and I was just looking for a notebook or something to write on.” I straighten up in my chair and glance over to the other receptionist for a lifeline. Even a sympathetic look would help me out right now. Anything.
“So you’ve been working for my firm for a whole day with nothing to write on? How have you been doing any work?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest disapprovingly.
I look over at the other receptionist again for help. Now what’s-her-name isn’t even smirking at my desperation and discomfort. Now she looks as mortified as I feel on the inside.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been working on other things,” I say, swiveling around in my seat and grabbing some file folders from the long, low row of cabinets against the wall behind the reception desk. I hold up a few of the folders. “I made these!”
“That’s very good work, Ms…,” the big boss trails off. Of course he doesn’t know my name. I’m just a lowly receptionist, and his name is on the wall behind me.
“Anderson! Rebecca Anderson!” I say with a little bit too much enthusiasm.
He turns to the other receptionist. The photo of him on his firm’s website doesn’t at all do this man justice. I guess there’s really no way to convey everything through a bio on a website. There’s just something about him.
Oh yeah, it’s probably the fact that his dark, tousled hair and scruffy beard perfectly frame a hard jaw and to-die-for cheekbones. And that’s not even to mention his body. The sleeves of his white button-down are rolled up, and he’s got his arms completely covered in tattoos. And he’s big. He’s towering over me.
Yeah, just the headshot on the website would never be able to do this man justice.
And the worst part of all is that I’m not sure whether I should be into him or afraid of him. In my short one-day-plus-two-hours at his firm, I’ve already heard horror stories about how he can be a huge prick to his employees, but I’ve also heard every young lady at the firm talk about how dangerously sexy he is.
“Joanna, can we please get Rebecca here something to write on? I don’t know how she’s going to be able to do her job without the proper supplies,” he says, half bored, half annoyed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Oh, God. Yes. I’m sorry,” Joanna stutters, picking up her phone and dialing in a four-digit extension.
“I’ll wait here,” Mr. Harper says, checking his watch. It’s shiny and flashes in the dim lighting of the reception area, and he looks down at me with an amused smirk.
Joanna gently puts the phone receiver back in the cradle as if she’s just received really, really bad news.
“There’s no answer in the supply room,” she says apologetically.
“It’s fine,” Mr. Harper say, turning away and marching down the hall toward his office.
Joanna leans over the desk to make sure he’s gone and then turns to me.
“Now you’ve got us both in trouble!” she hisses, banging away furiously at her keyboard.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like I’ve just been sitting here doing nothing.”
